


Providencial Undertakings

by plingo_kat



Category: Spiritwalker Trilogy - Kate Elliott
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the second week of Bee and Catherine's enrollment at the University, they find themselves a mystery and an adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Providencial Undertakings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Araine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araine/gifts).



> I hope this satisfies you, araine! It's my firm belief that Cat and Bee got into _lots_ of trouble when they were younger, which sharpened their minds and honed their skills. Here's a taste of what that might have been like!

“Come, quickly!” Bee bounced impatiently, coat and skirts swishing to eclipse and reveal her stocking-covered knees. “We musn’t be late in our second week of classes.”

“You just wish to see your new love, Maester Baharam Shaheen,” I accused, gathering up my slates with one hand and my coat with the other. I had been engrossed in my father’s journals and missed the passage of time, a commonplace occurrence.

So too was the glare Bee shot me, a look that cut like winter’s wind. “The Maester has nothing to do with it,” she said, turning her nose up in the air. “I merely desire to enhance my knowledge of the historical arts.”

I snorted as I picked up my bookbag and slung it over one shoulder. “Never have I heard a more outrageous lie,” I retorted. “Was it not only yesterday that you were expounding on Maester Shaheen’s beautiful eyes and unruly locks and full lips—“

“Witch!” Bee’s face was pinker than normal when she stuck her tongue out at me. I decided to take pity on her and drop the subject, although not without a parting gesture: a fake swoon as we exited the room, accompanied with appropriately dramatic arm movements.

We spent the walk to the Academy discussing our plans for the day. I suggested scoping out the libraries; Bee, as was her wont, was determined to pursue the more dangerous option of exploring the personal rooms of various instructors.

“Perhaps Maester Farjad’s office?” she said virtuously. I was immediately suspicious, as Bee’s most innocent tones often concealed her most devious plans.

“What’s so engaging about Maester Farjad?” I narrowed my eyes. Bee merely shrugged, looking away.

“Oh, nothing,” she said. “He was merely the first lecturer I thought of. And his office is out of the way of the main corridors, so it would be simple matter to look around for a bit.”

A kernel of suspicion grew in my mind. “Baharam Shaheen doesn’t study under Maester Farjad, does he?”

Bee tossed her hair, her true motivation revealed. “You cannot fault me for combining our two goals,” she said. “I am merely being efficient.”

I could indeed fault her, but opted not to say so. There really was no practical reason that we could not search for more information on Shaheen while in Maester Farjad’s office.

“All right,” I sighed.

Then we grinned at each other, delighted with our self-appointed adventure. We were Barahals, after all. Gathering information was what we did.

And really, what could go wrong?

*

The day seemed to drag by. My eyes were drawn constantly to the trickling sands of the large hourglasses placed in the front of every lecture hall; each turn of the glass signaled one lecture’s length. Whenever my eyes set upon them, the grains seemed to fall slower and slower.

“Hsst!” Bee nudged my foot under the bench. I turned away from my notes about the reflective properties of glass and other materials to stare.

“What?”

In reply, she slid over her writing-slate. On it in her looping, elegant hand was a neatly written list – much like a student’s jotted reminders to herself at first glance, but upon closer inspection I realized that it was an outline of a plan for sneaking into Maester Farjad’s office later in the day.

It read:

\- escape during noontime meal  
\- make way to offices (route that passes close to kitchens)  
\- Cat: in charge of navigation/subterfuge  
\- me: in the unlikely event we get caught, will think up a story (do not worry, Cat)  
\- we shall do as Barahals do, dear cousin!

I hid a smile behind my hand and wrote back on my own slate: Indeed, cousin. And then I drew the Barahal clan symbol.

Bee drew a wicked, smiling face.

*

The halls seemed much larger and much more intimidating when only two young women were walking them, coats bundled up tightly against the cold. We stuck close to the wall, ready to dart into an alcove or down a branching corridor if we detected any presence but ourselves. Fortunately Bee was right and the noontime meal seemed to occupy everyone’s attention but out own; we saw no others on the way to Maester Farjad’s office.

But then we hit the first snag.

“It’s locked!” I hissed. I tried the knob again, but it stayed as stubbornly still as ever.

“Let me try,” Bee said, and knelt before the door. She dug through her schoolbag for a bit, then pulled forth two thin pieces of metal and inserted them in the keyhole.

“Bee!” I said. “When did you learn to pick locks?”

“Hush,” Bee said, wriggling the metal between her fingers. “Let me concentrate, I’m not very good at this yet.”

“Fine,” I said. “But you will have to teach me this later.”

Bee hummed assent. “I will, I will… there!” She twisted sharply, lockpicks held in one hand. The other turned the doorknob.

The door opened.

We beamed at each other. Success!

*

Maester Farjad’s office seemed disappointing at first glance. Still flush with victory, we stumbled inside (closing the door softly behind us) expecting, perhaps, various mechanical inventions of intricate and intriguing origin, arcane books piled on every surface, or even the mummified head of a woolly elephant, whose existence the Maester’s field of study encapsulated.

Instead we were greeted with an ordinary room: a desk, candles, bookshelves filled with mundane titles, and several picture frames. These we examined and found uninteresting; I moved on to the bookshelves, while Bee looked over the desk.

“Be sure to put everything back exactly as you found it,” I warned. Bee flapped a hand at me, staring intently. I knew she was memorizing the angles and order of the papers so that she could replace them after shuffling through them.

“Ah,” Bee said with great satisfaction, and I hurried over to look at what she found.

“A letter? Who is it from?”

“Wait, wait, let me read it. All right, here…

_’To the Esteemed Maester Kamran Farjad,  
We write to inform you that your research has been of great help to the Order. Know that your contributions have been noted and appreciated by us, but that others may not feel the same. Our opponents are ever-present and ever-watchful.’_

“There’s no signature, but there is a symbol. Do you know it?” Bee showed me the marking, something like a triangle with rounded arcs protruding from its bottom like stylized wings. I had never seen it before. Neither had Bee. 

“A mystery,” she said, enamored. “I wonder if there are any more letters? Perhaps we could find a clue to tell us what this mysterious Order is.”

We searched but found nothing. I suggested that we leave; the noon meal would be over soon and we didn’t want to be missed. Bee agreed and we straightened the papers, nudging them into their previous positions.

“The coast is clear,” Bee whispered after inching open the door, and we fled with racing hearts back to the dining hall.

*

“Take your boots off before you track mud all over the hall,” my aunt greeted us when we made our way home. “How was University today?”

Bee and I shared a look. “Nothing exciting,” she said, toeing off her boots. I busied myself with my coat. “I saw Maester Shaheen during afternoon lecture.”

It was true, she did see him. However, she hadn’t spent much time batting her lashes or smiling at him as she usually would; she and I were too busy speculating over the Order and what we would have to do to find out more about them. Maester Farjad communicated with the Order before, for why else would they have mentioned his research? And what research? His study of woolly elephants would not need merit an unsigned letter warning him of hidden enemies, surely.

A shiver raced down my spine. Bee and I had uncovered secrets to be solved, an adventure on University grounds, all due to our own initiative. 

Never had I felt more a Hassi Barahal.


End file.
